Inauguration
by tokyostory
Summary: Gakuto's first training session with Hyotei highlights some teammate differences. GakutoxAtobe. [Yaoi suggestion].


Inauguration

When Mukahi Gakuto had joined Hyotei's regular tennis team, he had noticed an interesting thing. Lined up on the court, underneath a sun just a little too hot for his first training session, he had observed the variety of expressions on the faces of his teammates. More correctly, he had watched as these expressions changed; altered almost immediately as their Captain had made his righteous way into the playing court.

Surely it was to be expected. The Captain of any team had, by rights, enormous power over those made to follow his word. A survival technique, and not one that every member relished, but obedience was nonetheless an unspoken rule. At Hyotei, as with many things, the game only got more intense. Atobe Keigo was not merely a Captain, just as Hyotei was not merely a team. He stood above 200 vultures; each and every one dying for a shot at his title, shivering their dark wings behind the curtain. A grumbling audience, whose frowns instantly vanished as a pair of dark eyes watched, keen to spy discontent or disagreement. Atobe's hands were relaxed, but they were not naturally so. He was eager to hammer down nails. It was the unspoken role of any Hyotei Captain. The silent burden. The price paid for adoration and reputation. Adoration and reputation so easily created in the eyes of Gakuto's new teammates.

Gakuto had never been particularly observant. He was merely a gossip queen, and his eyes had developed a certain hungry tenacity for observation. When Atobe had come down the line toward him, his eyes had not been upon his Captain. Wandering, they had taken in the expressions of everyone around him - the new team, the new rules, the new mould in which he had to pour himself. Good thing he was so flexible, he thought. The same couldn't be said of _that_ guy's face; rigid behind glasses, placating, calm. Oshitari Yuushi, Gakuto figured. You couldn't find such an eagerness to please in any other eyes, and ten bucks said the glasses weren't prescription lenses, either. Tch. What a poser.

Akutagawa Jirou looked fluid enough, though. If viscosity could be measured in facial expression, then Gakuto figured that Jirou was as likely to kiss ass as he himself was to join a monastery. Although, if one were permanently on the verge of falling asleep, then kissing ass might be a tricky objective in the first place. Behind lidded eyes, though, Gakuto detected a sharpness of mind; a glinting blade just out of reach. Ambition, determination, talent. Dangerous weapons. All guns cocked and headed at Atobe. The poor lamb probably wasn't even aware of it.

His lip curled into a small sneer. Hiyoshi Wakashi. If he wasn't aware of his own ambitions, then Kabaji had an IQ of 137. At least there was honesty in his threat, but Gakuto had nonetheless taken an instant dislike to him. Gakuto often took instinctive loathing toward other people, and one formed, they were rarely changed. Luckily, he seemed to have a knack for getting them spot-on. Wakashi was a little shark, circling for blood. He was there to topple Atobe. There were politics in cold-blooded eyes. Gakuto rolled his own and tapped his foot. Wasn't anyone in it for the fun, anymore?

As Atobe cleared his throat, Gakuto passed his gaze to him. With some effort, as there was at least a half-foot between them. Atobe knew, of course. The line-up had not been organised for him to estimate their builds, judge their skills and flaws, or to intimidate them. All of those poor players, thinking that they were important enough for a few seconds in Atobe's head; their talents being weighed up or awed upon. Bullshit. Gakuto could see nothing but the analysis of threat, the potential for usurpation; summing up the danger presented to him by yet another new team. As his eyes moved down the line, what would he see in Gakuto?

Oshitari had given innocent eyes with a plotting mind. Wakashi had given an icy stare with ambitious hands curled in fists. Jirou's sleepy eyes had portrayed slumbering determination; threat smouldering away somewhere, undetected.

Gakuto had stared Atobe full in the face and merely thought, 'if I'm here long enough, I'm going to end up in your bed.'

Atobe's eyes narrowed for a second and then Gakuto swore that he saw a small smile, just in the corner of his lips.


End file.
